


Part 2: Bullets, then Cannonballs

by mantra4ia



Series: Bucky x Reader: Words are the Best Weapons [2]
Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Backstory, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes' Notebooks, Bucky x Reader, F/M, Fanfic, Gen, Humor, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sass, Series, Slow Burn, Snark, Subtext, Work In Progress, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantra4ia/pseuds/mantra4ia
Summary: Author: mantra4iaArchetype: Bucky x Reader, featuring the Avengers (POV Reader)Chapter Snapshot: Tasked with the mission of rehabilitating Bucky Barnes, no one said it would be easy.After a rocky first meeting, you both attempt to complete Bucky's first therapy session in one piece. But you do not intend to let Bucky off the hook so easily before he confronts his own misconceptions: about himself, about violence, and about you.This is my original work. Please do not duplicate or reproduce.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Previously: First Impressions.  
> Tasked with the mission of rehabilitating Bucky Barnes, no one said it would be easy.  
> But you owe Tony Stark a favor. And as Tony's 'favorite' (and only) therapist (that he can tolerate and vice versa) you could hardly say no. You've always appreciated a challenge, and maybe Bucky will finally be the challenge that makes you feel like you've done some good in the world.

[Background music to score the chapter (optional)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkMyqC8fobI)

You closed the office door and shimmied a four paneled screen across the open recess of the former glass partition. The decorative panel was the most recent addition to your home-away-from-home, a gift from the King of Wakanda after you confirmed safe delivery of the patient. Although the dark and somewhat shocking African motifs were out of place in a dusty, modern space, it did serve a useful purpose for the moment. You made a mental note to send T'chala your thanks, and an update on Bucky's progress as soon as possible. He had done a great deal in his protection of Bucky, even if the playing field in his own country had now been compromised, and you had been called in as extra muscle to “move up the time table” in order to “stabilize the fallen soldier.” Whatever that meant.

For security reasons, whenever you were in session with Bucky, the agreement going forwards was that the other four tenants in your building were given a paid vacation day courtesy of Stark Industries, and agents were posted at each exit, entrance, and possible extraction point. The strange and tenuous alliance - T'chala, Tony, and the Avengers - made you feel less like a therapist and more like a peacekeeper.

You sat down on the one remaining seat in the office that hadn't been disposed of and began updating your notes, not just on Barnes' behavior but his relationship to the other Avengers as well. You were not unaware that the Winter Soldier was still magnetized to the floor, and growing restless since the company had left. All the more material to include in your notes, you smiled, as you ciphered each page into a carefully devised code.

“Holding me here like this is futile, you weak, incapable...” the Winter Soldier began in Russian.

“Uspokoić się [quiet yourself, relax] Soldier!” you retorted in Polish, purposely experimenting to illicit and record a response. The Winter Soldier had been trained in several Slavic languages, but Polish was the first foreign language that Bucky had encountered on deployment with the 107th when the Allies had arrived in Europe. You scanned his expression to see whether you'd hit the mark, and had to withhold your reaction once you knew that you had. Recognition. It was the door. A way into the cognitive labyrinth.

“Tell me soldier, how many people have you saved?” you continued in Polish. You did not know why you had chosen follow your gut and pursue this line of questioning; moments later you were glad of it.

Like summer's heat burning through the fog of morning, you were observing Bucky again, not the Winter Soldier. You threw the switch that disengaged the magnetized floor panel, though he was not aware, and watched as Bucky appraised his predicament. A state of partial compliance had not displaced him. Bucky knew where he was and how he'd gotten there, which was a good sign indicating no loss of spatial awareness.

“Która godzina [what time is it], Bucky?”

“Pół do czwarta pani [2:30 ma'am]” he said haltingly, as would a child recalling a language they had not practiced for sometime. Bucky had lost the half hour that he'd been under. Not a promising sign, but also not altogether unexpected.

Shifting tactics, you swung back to full English, satisfied with your findings for now. “A bit later than that. You've been gone for a while I'm afraid, but I didn't want to disclose that right away. I'm sorry for withholding information, I needed to make my assessment.” Bucky groaned from his seated position on the floor as he stretched his neck. It occurred to you that behaving a bit more open and transparently would reflect a similar response, so you attempted a less clinical reply.

“Mr. Barnes, do you recall my last question? Do you remember why it called your attention?”

“I suppose the fact that your question was surprising. It implies significance that I've saved lives. That was a long time ago.” Bucky needed prompting in order to be more forthcoming, but you did not want to prompt him just yet. "The question implies that I matter." You could just barely fill in his sub-thoughts yourself; you had surprised him because most people had asked 'Do you know who you are? Do you remember me? _Do you know what you've done?_ _How many people have you killed?_

“Well you do. You can get up by the way, stretch your legs, get comfortable, you haven't been bound to the floor for the last 5 minutes or so.” In response to his probing expression, you gently added “if you remember, that cuff on your arm was a voluntary precaution that we established at the beginning of our session, therefore you are welcome to take it off at any time. You simply have to ask.”

Hazily, Bucky did recall their agreement, and he was absolutely determined not to remove the cuff under any circumstance. You made a swift note about his choice implied through silence.

“It's 3'oclock by the way, if I failed to mention that.” You said, rounding out your previous thoughts, to ensure that Bucky was aware you were still fully engaged with him, regardless of the number of notes you might take.

He stood up and his mind began, astutely, to note that the room was different somehow than when he had entered. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all if you retrieve your seat from the hall.”

Bucky then completed his reconnaissance on the changes to the room. The missing seat, the four-fold screen, the specks of glass shards just peaking past it, though a surprising lack of physical damage to either one of you.

“Did I do that?”

“What do you believe?”

“Yes."

“Why?” You asked lightly and without malice, your first assault on his chain of reasoning. **You kept it simple for now; first bullets, then cannon balls. You knew the first, the best, bullet was always a question.**

Though jarred for a moment, Bucky's response did not betray it. “Because when I lose time it means I've lost control. I'm...dangerous.”

“But you don't remember what happened here?”

“I remember enough.”

“But not clearly.”

Silence necessitated a new narrative.  

>   **“I threw that chair out into that hall as a matter of fact.” You lied. Another bullet. This fractured Bucky's self-assurance briefly. He inspected you questioningly a moment.**

“No,” he said with sadness, the heaviness of what he'd done digging in like a burr.

“Absolutely,” you were again light and buoyant in contrast to his sullenness. “I was frustrated by the utter lack for progress that our first session was coming to and that broken partition is the result.” 

> “No,” Bucky said again, but with less sadness and more resolute resentment. Was it resentment you detected? If yes, resentment at what? Being clearly lied to, being questioned and doubted, being argued with, or thus far losing the argument?

“Why?” Bullet.

“Because you are not the type.”

“The type to what?”

“The type of person to be _dangerous_.”

“To be _violent_ you mean?”

“Is there a difference?” Bucky scoffed.

“Yes as a matter of fact, danger is a matter of circumstance. Firing a weapon downrange at a target is practice, firing into a crowd is dangerous.”

“Only to the person you're aiming at.” Bucky corrected darkly. Less resentment, more independent thought, more fighting will: that was progress. 

You rewarded progress by engaging in his smart remark. “Exactly, you understand. Danger is a collective of circumstances. We're in no danger here.”

“Then I stand corrected; you are not the type to be _violent_ , if I am supposed to agree with your distinction.” However, his back talk was not rewarded.

“I don't ask you to agree, I ask you to think. Is that your final answer?” Bullet, bullet, bullet.

“YES.” Bucky said firmly, but his face was no longer downcast. He was measuring you squarely eye-to-eye, and that's when you realized that you both must be standing. When did that happen? You made a mental note that Bucky had successfully fired one bullet of his own in agitating you.

You dropped the buoyancy in tone so that your words would hit Bucky with impact. “Then you would be incorrect, twice, firstly because you have made the argument that you are guilty on the assumption of someone else's innocence. Secondly because I am utterly capable of violence, which you will learn with time. _Therefore your reasoning is flawed.”_ Cannonball. You made certain to place the charges of your words very accurately. _Bucky thought himself flawed ,_  the weight he carried which you were trying to dislodge. But the truth? His logic was the flaw. That was the distinction that now began to take root in Bucky as you said again, “I threw that chair.”

“No,” Bucky said with a shake of his head, “you didn't.” More than a one word response this time with perhaps a hint of amusement. What could that mean? You speculated.

“Why!?” Bullet.

“Because you're not strong enough!” Bucky was beginning to raise his voice, but it wasn't the cold anger of winter, it was the humid rumble of an impending summer storm. It was Bucky's anger, and he was reigning it in. Also progress.

“For what reason? And you'd best not say because I'm a woman Barnes, or I will make good on that violence I promised you. You are electing to make the same mistake, _again_.”

"And what is that?!” Bucky crossed to the metal standing desk opposite the door and broken partition, but still remained firmly in the eastern hemisphere of the office.

You weren't sure if this was a conscious choice Bucky made, all the same it spoke volumes the he was still uncertain about whether he was in control, whether you were “safe” in the same room with him. So you made a counter, and counter-intuitive, decision. Following the steps of his retreat and pivoting your back to the debris of the only exit, you occupied the dead center of the room facing Bucky. It was the most compromising and confrontational position for a triad of reasons. 1) It placed you between Bucky and his obvious choice of exit, imposing on his freedom, though one supposes he could attempt to launch himself over the standing desk and through the reinforced window behind him which, if you didn't mind a two floor free-fall, led to the street. 2) The aforementioned window behind Bucky let in far too much backlight without it's tint so that Bucky was more or less a massive dark silhouette in front of you, finer features and movements concealed by a the surrounding flood of brightness. A tactical disadvantage to you. 3) As suspected, you had breached Bucky's self-made sphere of the room, that much was clear by the tenseness in his posture. It confirmed for you that Bucky still had doubts that he should trust his own mind, and in some way was trying to maintain a wall between you, the person, and him, the machine.

This situation was no longer the positive, uplifting banter you had hoped for, but the lesson still had to be made. Bucky needed to understand.

Cannonball: “You judge my strength by comparison to your own! Drawing yet another line, another wall of distinction between us, instead of judging my strength based on the action that was done. All of us are guilty of placing ourselves in boxes based on how we choose to think, the assumptions we presume, but to the extent that you isolate yourself, you are guilty of building a cage. What happened here soldier?”

“You threw a chair into that hall, through the glass” Bucky replied. He was beginning to trust the path that you were leading him down, even if it was a lie. But the point was so much more than that. Do not follow me blindly, Winter Soldier, you thought urgently. Walk with me to that juncture in the road. Stand before the mirror of yourself as a soldier, as you did so long ago with Steve at the World Fair, the Stark Exhibition, the bright future. Examine the lie you've been told, and perhaps you can overthrow that you've been telling yourself all these years.

“Then do you still doubt that I had the strength to do what needed to be done here, Bucky?”

You both stood in silence eye to eye for a long time before Bucky then made his advance to the door. Then and there that you had gone too far, pushed too violently, and as a result you now had the fight on your hands that had started all this. The Winter Soldier was going to go right through you, but you had to take a chance see this to the end.

Two strides was all it took...but Bucky did not, in fact, go through you. He grazed your shoulder, opened the door to the hall, retrieved his chair, stepped back into the room through the inelegant glass portal (a humorous rebellion perhaps) and set the leather cube slightly-worse-for-wear directly across from it's companion. You both strained at the tremendous effort it took to sit down together, like two fighters after a long, sore match. He took up the battered chair.

This time, Bucky spoke in a statement not sad or angry or in defensive retaliation. “I did this. I threw this chair through the glass. Not you, me.”

“Why?” you said, not a bullet, but a plea. Had Bucky understood?

“Because I recall when I came in here today that I sat on the left chair and you sat on the right. If you really were frustrated enough by me, and that is reasonable to believe all things considered, that you desired to throw something in the heat of the moment, then it would have been much easier to throw anything else in the office, including the chair you're sitting in now, than to unseat me. I am not easy to throw.”

You shook your head in your hands and laughed to yourself, and soon after Bucky's laughter, short lived but sweet, joined you. You spoke softly not so much out of respect for Bucky's feelings in this raw moment, but reverently because it was the first laugh, the first experience, shared noiselessly (apart from shattered glass) between the two of you. 

“That's the most sense you've made since you came here today Bucky.” Your throat hurts, even though you have not been yelling (much), and you suspect that it is because there is more emotion in what you say than you want him to realize.

“Do you have all the notes you require?” Bucky said, noticing that you hadn't taken a written note for some time.

“Very likely not nearly enough, but...” you and Bucky needed a to take a beat and a breath, “I did learn, promisingly enough, that you don't always require a manual reset to breakthrough compliance.”

“Manual reset, is that what we're calling it now?”

“Would you prefer to call it a swift blow to the head?”

Silence.

“How long until this session is over?”

“Try not to sound too excited, Mr. Barnes. You have another 10 minutes yet.”

“Do you have other...patients...today?”

“Generally, there's an arrangement. My days are cleared when you are here. I'm at _your_ disposal and you at _my_ mercy.” Steve had not been far off the mark in his estimate of your control. 

>  “Then if you don't mind I'll call Steve. Ask him to make his run a little longer so that you can complete the notations.” Bucky replied. **Damn cannon ball.**

You remained in session another three hours before the both of you and Bucky were mentally exhausted. When he left with Steve, the thankful expression on the Captain's face could not be disguised. You closed a full notebook, and on the startling realization that you had no paper left for your next meeting with Bucky, made a supply stop on your way home at 6:00PM before crashing into bed for the earliest, soundest sleep you had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Part 3 - A Lapse in Cruelty  
> Tasked with the mission of rehabilitating Bucky Barnes, no one said it would be easy.  
> One week after your first session with Barnes, progress is slow and backbreaking. You can sense that Bucky still doesn't trust you; whether it's your capability as a therapist or something more, you are not sure. But in order to thaw his reservations, in order to earn his trust, you have to give a little of your own. And it's the hardest thing you've had to do in quite some time.  
> Will you risk a breach in detachment, a moment to let your guard down, for the sake of progress?


End file.
